


Snakemeat

by CoelacanthKing



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Animal Death, Claustrophobia, Fist Fights, Gen, Initiations, Religious Fanaticism, Scarification, pre-Fury Road
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 09:33:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4386716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoelacanthKing/pseuds/CoelacanthKing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First impressions are everything. If those don't work out, make sure you've got a Plan B ready. Preferably one that includes food.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snakemeat

**Author's Note:**

> My driver (Donda) and I talk about Fury Road a lot. Like... a lot. One topic that's come up is 'what the heck do the War Boys eat?'. Looking at the muscle tone on some of them, there needs to be some kind of protein involved. Also inspired by an encounter I had with a bull snake while Geocaching. 
> 
> Before everyone starts to jump down my throat about it, I actually adore snakes. I love them a heck of a lot more than you may think, writing that scene was incredibly hard for me.

 

 

His guide was a frail War Boy by the name of Tar. In Nux’s opinion he was nice enough, a little terse, but he was uncomfortably skinny. None of them ate enough, of course, but this fella had a surplus on belts that he’d never seen before. At this point there were belts keeping the belts keeping his pants up, and his chosen scars had been cut precisely over his ribs, which stuck out of his torso at a severe angles.

“You’ll be bunking with the big Boys now,” Tar explained. “No one’s gonna treat you soft like in the kennels.”

Nux’s reaction to this was to curl his lip, though Tar couldn’t see the action as he lead Nux through the deepest part of the Citadel’s underbelly. The motion mimicked the twitch of his shoulder muscles and the deep core burn on the back of his neck, where they had branded him just yesterday. “I ain’t made it this far by being soft.”

“V8 to that,” Rounding a corner and ducking into a dip in the wall, then wiggling though a few more steep tunnels, Tar lead him to a dead end with a crude archway chiseled into it, halfway covered by a tattered tarp. Pulling the ratty thing aside, Tar ushered with his free hand for Nux to enter. “Welcome to the Pit, War Boy.”

 _War Boy_. It made his chest ache with pride to know that he was old enough to be called that now. But his age only had so much to do with it. He had survived after all, when so many of his mates in the kennels hadn’t. By accident or sickness, they’d all been whittled down, until The Ace had been sent to collect him to be given his brand. The smallest pups had whined and cried, wanting him to stay, and Nux promised that he would see them all around. _Be strong, stay chrome_ , he had said. _You’ll make it!_ But the words were dust in his mouth: Already, Nux could feel them under his skin. Two solid, barely noticeable pads of flesh on the junction between neck and shoulder. Ace had told them to learn to make friends with their lumps, as their lives here on the ground would be harder if they didn’t. But Nux figured that his new pals would just as easily do him in, regardless of whether he was nice to them or not.

The War Boy barrack known as the Pit certainly lived up to its name. A circular chamber with a cracked ceiling, it was an auditorium of staggered rock, slabs of stone jutting out every which way, with paths twisting between cairns and piles of loose scree. The shapes of War Boys teemed over every flat surface, their forms made loose and unfocused by the few fire pits that were spread around the arena. Some sat around the fires, cooking the rats and lizards caught in their traps to safe temperatures. Others perched on their little mounds, working on small repairs to clothing and tools. Sleeping War Boys, chattering War Boys, coughing War Boys. White noise of an idle army.

As he was led through the cracks to the back of the Pit, older War Boys sitting overhead would reach down and pat his head, speaking words of welcome and praise. Again, Nux felt a surge of emotion at the spirit of camaraderie, and he knew inexorably that this is where he belonged. Tar chose a slab close to the Pit’s floor for him, and Nux was all too eager to scramble up and sink down onto his front, a noise of pleasure bubbling up out of him as the cold stone made contact with his overly-warm skin.

“You hungry? You want some food?”

“I’m good, thanks.” It was a lie, of course, but Nux was a War Boy now. He had to look tough in front of all his new brothers. Tar nodded and took a seat at the opposite end of the slab, a light cough rattling his whole body as he drew out some tools and started to mend a hole in the hem of his pants. Nux watched him, watched his spidery fingers work in tandem, drawing a bone needle and greased twine though the dark fabric, cinching it all together. He watched until he couldn’t keep his eyes open, already thinking to tomorrow, thinking on what he’d like for his first scarmark.

“ _Fight!”_

Nux didn’t realize he had been asleep until he was jolted awake by a shout that rang off the ceiling, causing all of the War Boys present to stop what they were doing and turn their attention to the center of the Pit. A chorus of whoops and claps started up, and Nux had to stand to see over the head of the War Boy in front of him, still somewhat drowsy.

Everyone had backed away from the middle of the Pit, creating a loose ring, and in its center were two War Boys that Nux hadn’t ever seen before. A giant of a Boy with lumps packed across his shoulders like a mantle, and a young one that Nux guessed to be a good many cycles older than himself. The larger of the two was taking wide swings with huge fists, hollering and cursing, and the smaller was doing an amiable job in ducking, scuttling, and rolling out of the way. All around the circle War Boys were cheering, exchanging flasks of rotgut and small trinkets in wagers, and even Nux found himself enjoying the show. He’d roughhoused in the kennels with his mates when he was a pup, fights were all in good fun.

The young Boy in the center of the ring seemed to be having as good a time as anyone. He laughed whenever one of the bigger fellows’ kicks and punches missed him, shook it off when he didn’t, dealing out a few good strikes himself. He earned a laugh from the crowd when he popped up behind the giant and slapped him across the back of the head.

The atmosphere changed drastically when the larger War Boy reached into his boot and drew a knife, its blade a hard sheen in the Pit’s dim light. The crowd drew in an audible gasp, and from somewhere in the back someone shouted, “He can’t do that!” The smaller Boy, realizing the danger he was suddenly in, immediately went on the defensive, backing up and throwing up his arms just as the blade was swung, a thin red line blooming across one elbow. War Boys rushed into the arena, intent on stopping the fight. But their attempts were stopped when the smaller Boy seized a flat rock from the top of a scree stack, raised it high, and brought it down with a resounding _crack_ over his attacker’s head.

The rock cleaved in half on impact, and the sound it made was enough to make Nux’s stomach flip. The big Boy’s posture straightened instantly, his eyes going wide as he struggled to get his legs under him. Then, with an exaggerated groan, he tipped over and landed face-first on the rocky floor. Everyone was still for a long moment, and then three Boys were collecting the stunned giant, dragging him unceremoniously out of the Pit and to the Organic’s den.

“Slit! Get over here!”

Nux jumped at the voice; he had forgotten that Tar had been sitting with him. The War Boy from the ring, Slit, did as he was told and sauntered over to where they stood, acting as if nothing had happened. Tar shoved him onto his ass beside Nux, berating him as the mood of the Pit took up a sense of general calm once again.

“We tell you to try and be brotherly with people, and this is what you go and pull?”

“Not my fault,” Slit countered. “The bastard tried to take my blood.” He looked about the room, raising his voice so he could be heard. “Can’t let that go, am I right?” Several voices called out in assent, agreeing.

Settling back down, rocking on his feet, Nux watched Tar examine Slit’s elbow. It was only then did he notice the staples. Some accident or injury had ruined Slit’s face some time ago, and one side had been pressed back into a messy line, three thick staples keeping the wound shut. They had long since healed into his skin, and Nux wondered what in the world could make such an injury. Lots of things, it seemed.

“And what did you do that made him angry enough to want your blood in the first place?” Tar drew out a roll of relatively clean cloth from one of his pant pockets, tearing off a length and starting to wrap the cut on Slit’s elbow. Slit shrugged.

“Might’ve poked around his trap. Might’ve taken one or two things.”

Tar’s response was to wallop him admonishingly across the mouth, right on top of the staples. “That’s just as bad! You don’t follow the rules, you’re not going to last long enough for the Fury Road.”

Slit’s face screwed up into a mask of petty annoyance, and Nux beat him to the punch just as he was about to speak. “That other Boy wasn’t following the rules when he tried to kill him.” Tar pointed a spindly finger at him, warning.

“Don’t you start siding with this one, he’s a troublemaker.” He tied off the wrap, letting Slit test out the mobility of his elbow. Nux had to think about this. Both rules were important, and neither of them should have been broken. But in the end he had to side with Slit; War Boys don’t pull weapons on other War Boys.

Just then an older Boy crept up to them, tapping Tar on the shoulder. “’Oi, we need some extra hands with something. You in?”

Throwing up his hands, Tar sighed. “Sure, of course. Why not? Here,” Reaching into a bag strapped around his middle, he drew out two flat ration squares, handing one to Nux and Slit each. “You two’d best stay here, get some rest.”

Nux watched Tar go while taking deliberate, measured chews of his square. They had a consistency that made you crave water on the first bite, but they were perfectly good eating. Nothing poisoned, nothing inedible. Though what exactly went into them, no one really knew. He was surprised to notice that Slit had already devoured his, and was spread out supine over a majority of _his_ slab. He tucked away the remainder of his ration, careful to be more or less civil with this new fixture.

“’Oi, move over a bit.”

From the light of an overhanging sconce, the staples in Slit’s face rippled stiffly with the movement of his mouth. Not bothering to open his eyes, he mumbled, “Careful who you bark at, pup.”

“I’m not a pup, I’m a War Boy!” Twisting, Nux reached around and jabbed at his tender brand with his thumb. The pain swamped him for a split second, but to his own credit he didn’t scream. “I’m all chrome!”

Slit scoffed. “You’re not chrome, you’re just fresh. New car smell with no V8 under it.”

“So what does that make you? Chrome?”

“Naw. I’m a lancer, I’m shine. Learn the difference, pup.”

Nux felt heat flush across his face in a wave. He floundered for something to say, came up empty, and proceed to silently fume as Slit gave a staged yawn and proceeded to go to sleep. On _his_ slab! The heat ebbed away, however, when Slit rolled over onto his side and pulled his knees up to his chest, making room for two.

\---

By V8, why did everything have to hurt?

They’d cut into his mouth today. His lips, to be more specific. Nux had told them what he wanted, and two big Boys had held him down, another taking a knife to his lips. He’d been surprised over how easily the skin had split. How the coppery smell of his own blood made him woozy, but the taste of it made his mouth water. It was over as quick as it started, and his brothers had dabbed at his slashed lips, praising him for being so brave.

In the hours after the procedure, Nux was finding the aftercare more annoying than what the end product was probably worth. If he held his lips together for any amount of time, the wounds would stick, and he’d manually have to pull them apart, much to his endless chagrin. He found himself breathing though his mouth, taking a conscious effort to let them heal as naturally as possible. Of course, he’d forget about this and immediately close his mouth, and the whole blasted thing would repeat itself. That’s why he was down here, heading for the Altar. He felt the need to pray to the Immortans, asking them to give him patience and endurance during this painful time. It confused him as to why the Immortan Joe didn’t hold private sermons for his War Boys more often, and sometimes it seemed like he didn’t care enough. But, according to many of the older Boys, he did. _He answers our prayers, but in ways we don’t understand. He’s suffering too, you know. The Immortan has a hundred and eight important things to do, but he has time for us. Have faith._

Into the Blood Shed, past the rows of sick Boys and their dangling, wriggling bloodbags. The Altar Room was as serene a place as any that existed in the Citadel, cool and blue and still. The flames that were kept in the Eternal Skull burned low, but that was only because of the time of day. Tonight, when the chamber was packed and the truly frantic praying started up, they’d be stoked to a brighter burn. A few other Boys were there giving their own thanks, praying in the name of V8 and to their mates who had gone out legendary, now cruising down the chrome highways of Valhalla.

A group of three came in from behind Nux, saluted, and stepped up to take a steering wheel each. Only when they exited the chamber did they holler and cheer, racing down the aisle of the Blood Shed and up to the garages. Nux felt red-hot emotion surge in his throat, but he pushed it back down. He’d make it. He’d be as good a driver as any over them. Better, even.

He kneeled, gazing in admiration at the bristling rows of wheels that made up the Altar. He’d build his own, and it would be added here. One day. His salute was held high, head bowed as he spoke through his sticky, tattered lips.

“Immortans of old, heroes of our age. See my deeds and know that I need your strength. Keep my flesh strong, my blood thick, and my lumps small. V8.”

Nux felt eyes on him. He looked up to see a War Boy kneeling on the other side of the room smile at him, nodding in silent approval.

He decided against going back up the way he came. The passage forked at a certain bend, and if he took the left way, he could probably still make it to the Mess and grab some food before it was time to sleep. It’d most likely be the same food that had been offered for the last cycle; ration squares and mushrooms picked from the walls of the pump room. But it was better than nothing.

The passages and tunnels and hidey-holes of the Citadel made one feel like an ant in an anthill. Nux certainly did, what with all the backtracking and trekking and sidestepping he had to do. He found the split in the path he’d been looking for, was about to turn, then stopped as a yawp of delight echoed down from the other end of the tunnel. The sudden noise made him jump, and Nux had to squint to see that far down; he could just make out a shape silhouetted against a small light, hunched low against the wall and scratching at the floor.

 _Someone got lucky with their trap_ , Nux suspected. The Citadel was crawling with animals, mostly rats and beetles and lizards, and the use of small traps all around the fortress ensured that the Wars Boys got some much needed protein every once in a while. Everyone managed their own traps, staying away from those belonging to other War Boys. To pilfer someone else’s trap was strictly against the rules, and Nux thought back to the fight in the Pit in few days before, when Slit had almost been killed for having stolen from someone else. Intrigue moved him towards the figure at the end of the tunnel, curious at who had gotten lucky this time.

He almost wasn’t surprised to see it was Slit. The older Boy was unmistakable with his dismantled driveshaft scarmark, and the small lamp he’d propped up bounced light of the staples in his cheek. Nux wondered if he’d caught him in the act of raiding another trap, and was partially relieved to see that the box trap he was reloading had a crude _S_ etched into it.

“What’cha get, Slit?” Jolting slightly at the voice, Slit turned and went into a defensive stance, ready to defend his catch. But the bravado went out of him once he realized who it was.

“None of your business, pup.” Then he added, because he must have guessed that humoring him wouldn’t be the worst part of his day, “Snakemeat.” He lifted up his prize, a lengthy monster of a reptile that had since gone slack. The coloration that ran along its sides made Nux take pause, and he took a fearful step back when he realized why.

“That’s a snake that can give you the blacksick,” he babbled. He and his mates had been warned to stay away from these snakes, as they delivered a bite that put black fire right in your blood and could kill anyone right where they stood. An unhonorable death for any War Boy, doomed never to enter Valhalla, spirit lingering on forever in the Void with the blacksick still raging inside them.

Slit shrugged. “Yeah, but you can still eat them. Gotta scrape out the parts that got the sick, though. Snakemeat is good eating.” He gestured with the hand holding the snake, and it swung loosely with the movement. “You want some?”

“Uhhh… Sure, yeah.” The offer took Nux by surprise. He’d suspected that Slit didn’t like him all that much.

A burst of noise that sounded like tires crunching over gravel burst from Slit’s mangled mouth. “Go and get your own then!” Slinging one end of his catch over his shoulder, the older Boy picked up his lamp and sauntered back down the tunnel, crowing as he went.

Nux kicked at the powdery ground, disgusted for having been played the fool. Figures that he’d fall for that! But Slit’s parting words began to settle in his mind, and he didn’t linger, eager to check his own traps and see if he could keep true to the challenge.

He got his wish a week later.

\---

No one seemed to think that putting a trap in a crawlspace was a good idea. Well, it was actually a crude vent. But Nux had gotten a few good lizards out of this one, and he knew he’d hit chrome again when he pulled himself into the dark and immediately heard the sounds of a distressed animal. He had a small headlamp with him (charged with actual electricity, how neat was that?); he secured it around his scalp, flicked the light on, and felt his blood immediately run cold.

Nux’s preferred traps were simple spring and noose contraptions, where the movement of any creature would dislodge the spring and cause the noose to cinch tight. The noose was crafted out of barbed wire, so the animal would get pierced and secured regardless of how much it slipped and squirmed. Like so many times before, it had worked. Almost too well. Coiled into a pile in the middle of the crawlspace, noose drawn tight behind its head and drawing blood, was a snake. A blacksick snake, as was apparent by the splotches of orange and grey that decorated its sides. The presence of a bigger creature made the reptile begin its thrashing again, and Nux found that, unsurprisingly, he was too scared to move.

 _Maybe it can’t open its mouth_ , he thought, the voice inside his head surprisingly calm. _Maybe the barbs got in its throat and-_

His hopes were crushed as the snake opened its maw to its fullest extent, a sound akin to a condensed sandstorm exploding from it. The noise filled every inch of the crawlspace, and by the light of his headlamp Nux could see a pearl of clear liquid drip from an exposed fang.

_Blacksick. Blacksick. Blacksick._

He’d broken into a sweat, moisture pooling along his back and under his pits. His eyes squeezed shut and he listened to the snake whip around. He could always go get someone. The idea was tossed almost instantly. Nobody larger than himself would be able to fit in here; his own arms were nearly pressed to his sides in the narrow space, and the top of his head tapped against the low ceiling. And then he heard Slit’s laughter in the back of his mind, condescending and harsh, and Nux knew that he had to do this himself. He _needed_ to do this himself.

“I can do this… I’m a War Boy.” Then, staring down the snake, he hollered at the top of his lungs, the sound loud enough to make his ears ache in the tiny space, “I’m a War Boy!”

The snake didn’t seem to care about Nux’s boost in confidence. It continued to blow and spit at him, straining at the noose. It didn’t have enough reach to lash out and strike him, which was good. But one careless motion would let it turn its head and sink its teeth into his hand. He’d only get one shot at this.

One hand went to his pants, digging about until he found just what he needed; his pike, and a single bolt. He calculated that there was maybe two hands of space between the snake and the crawlspace ceiling. It seemed like a lot, but there was plenty of room for something to go wrong.

Transferring the bolt to his left hand, keeping the pike gripped in his right, he waited for the reptile to calm, watching it twist itself back into a heap, calming himself in the process. It parted its jaws again, and Nux swore that he could see down its mouth into the Void.

 _V8, guide my hand_.

The bolt was flicked from his left hand and sailed perfectly over the snake, landing with a muted _clink_ on the other side of the vent. It certainly wasn’t expecting an attack from that side, and the reptile struck out at the phantom threat, its attention taken away from Nux for a split second. Pushing with his feet, Nux shot forward, seized the snake around its middle, and pulled it taught. It made the sandstorm noise again, made louder by proximity, and bashed its muscular body against his bony frame. Nux only had to position the pike for a moment before he sent it through the snake’s neck, right up against the wire behind its skull.

He shuffled back instantly as the snake’s lashing reached a frantic rhythm. It gaped and spat and rolled, not understanding what was happening to it. The peg keeping the wire embedded in the wall was actually ripped free, but it hardly mattered now. Nux watched, horrified and fascinated, as the snake writhed its life away, coils growing looser and looser until, what seemed like a lifetime later, the monster went still. He waited for a long while before reaching out to brush his fingers along its body. Nothing. Suddenly aware of the tiny space he’d shoved himself into and the claustrophobia that was brewing in his brain, Nux grabbed the tail end of the snake and began to shimmy backwards out of the crawlspace.

When he was out and standing on his own two feet, he was struck by the sheer insanity of what he’d done. He screamed, but not out of pain or terror. Nux screamed because he had stared into the Void and spat at it, and he had defeated an agent of death. His palms were sweating, there was blood on his face from the snake, and he screamed and leapt and punched at the air, his euphoria causing a few passing Boys stop and stare, no doubt wondering if whatever had taken hold of him was contagious. Nux reined himself in long enough to get a better look at his prize- it was smaller than the one Slit had bagged, but still big enough to kill him ten times over- then began to sprint in the direction of the Pit, shoving his headlamp into his pocket as he ran.

Slit was the sole user of a small fire pit in one corner of the arena, stirring the coals morosely as he gnawed at a ration square. Winded from the run, Nux huffed and puffed up to where he sat. Once there, he took a moment to breathe, wiped his mouth with the back of one hand, and tossed the snake down at the older Boy’s feet. Slit’s expression was one of comical confusion as he looked from Nux to the snake, repeatedly, the square sticking halfway out of his mouth. Finally he asked, chewing the last of his food, “You get bit?”

“Nope. The noose got around its neck, couldn’t get to me.”

“I see that,” Slit observed. He took the time to remove Nux’s pike from its neck, handing them both back to him. “Congrats, pup.”

Nux frowned, wiping his tool on his pant leg before tucking it away. “What’ve I gotta do to get you to stop calling me that? Kill all the snakes in the Citadel and make war on every Buzzard in the Waste?”

“Close enough.” Slit didn’t object when Nux took a seat beside him, and for a while neither of them said anything. Slit prodded at the fire while Nux wiped himself down, his clay coming off in sludgy patches thanks to the snake blood.

“…So you’re a lancer, huh? What’s that like?”

Slit looked up, a glint of emotion Nux could only call pride making its way across his fierce features. “It’s shine, real shine. Nothing like the weight of a thunderstick in your hands, blasting through the desert on the back of a pursuit vehicle. Real shine.”

“You’ve done any war yet?”

“Once. I got one smeg of a driver, though. I don’t tell him to do his job, he can’t tell me how to do mine. He drinks enough rotgut that it sloshes up in his brain, and he can’t even drive in a straight line!”

Smiling wryly, Nux pulled a knife from its place strapped around his thigh, ready to cut into his prize. “Well. Maybe they’ll pair you up with a better driver one of these days.”

“V8, I hope so.” They both chuckled, and Nux began his work by removing the broken wire and making an incision behind the reptile’s wounds. He had never prepped snake before. He’d eaten it once or twice, but was entirely unaware of how the carving process worked. It was better to start somewhere, he reckoned. How hard could it be? They didn’t have any limbs. But Slit was having none of his guesswork. “Oi, what’re you doing? You’re gonna ruin perfectly good snakemeat making a cut like that.”

Nux held his chin up, defiant, staring him down. “I caught it, I cut it. You want one to eat your way, go and get your own.”

Slit seemed to be taken aback hearing his own words coming out of Nux’s mouth. Then he laughed, and this time around the sound was less antagonistic, more of a self-indulging guffaw. When Slit smiled his whole face moved, staples bunching together, lines of mirth creasing his rough skin. It was a feral smile, but a contagious one.

“Fine, okay. You got me.” Smiling must have hurt, because he rubbed at his cheeks ruefully as he watched Nux carve a line down the snake’s belly. “I don’t think I’ve ever caught your name, War Boy.”

The title almost slipped past him. He didn’t let the emotion show on his face, but he felt it in his chest: raw and furious and powerful. “Nux.”

Slit leaned his head on one fist, pondering. “Nux. Nux the Snakeslayer. I like that.”

Grinning his own roguish grin, Nux used his fingers to open up his prize, sliding over and exploring slick muscle until he found what he was looking for. With any blood-shedding creature, snake or lizard or War Boy, the heart was unmistakable. Slicing it out delicately, he made it balance on the edge of the knife and pointed it at Slit; a bloody, quivering offering.

“I like that too.”  


End file.
